Bob Woolmer learnt the game of cricket in the most genteel of surroundings. As a teenager he played among the rhododendrons of the beautiful Nevill ground in Tunbridge Wells. His mentor, once he made the Kent side, was his captain, Colin Cowdrey, the gentle old man of English cricket. The assumption was that Woolmer would play out his time in those tranquil surroundings, and that he might play for England.

Well, it didn't quite turn out like that. Woolmer did play for England, in 19 Test matches between 1975 and 1981 and in six one-day internationals. But he also played for Kerry Packer's cricket circus, and as one of the rebels who played in South Africa in 1981. Gentle of demeanour and reluctant to offend, he none the less had a streak of ambition and confidence that led him to take decisions that belied his serene upbringing.

He signed for Packer in 1977 when the Australian tycoon was setting up an alternative series to traditional Test cricket in a fight for TV rights. Those who signed were regarded as pariahs.

Woolmer, then 29, was on the threshold of a burgeoning England career - other rebels were past their peak - but he could not resist the invitation. It may be that he was flattered to be asked; it was certain that he would be better remunerated playing for Packer than the Test and County Cricket Board.

He rebelled again when he signed for the English team that had been enlisted by apartheid-era cricket administrator Dr Ali Bacher to play in South Africa. In order to sustain the standard of domestic cricket during the sporting boycott, Bacher recruited - at great cost - a variety of teams to play unofficial Tests.

By 1994 he was back in South Africa, this time as the national team's coach after a period in charge of Warwickshire, who were spectacularly successful under his stewardship. There had been, however, a minor recreational drugs problem in the team and, as was often the case throughout Woolmer's career, he seemed oblivious to misdemeanours in his own dressing room.

In South Africa, the misdemeanours that passed him by were truly serious. The captain, Hansie Cronje, was a charismatic figure adored by his own countrymen and by Woolmer, but he was staining the game irrevocably by manipulating matches to bolster his bank balance. Woolmer, who could spot a technical flaw from 70 yards, was again unable to sense corruption within his own team. He appeared as dumbfounded as anyone when Cronje was exposed.

Despite his undoubted acumen, there was a naivety about him. He remained mesmerised by the challenge of coaching, which explains why, in his mid-fifties, he took on one of the most exasperating tasks in cricket: coaching the gifted yet mercurial cricketers of Pakistan.

In his first 18 months, there were signs that Pakistan were responding to his patient promptings. But their build-up to the World Cup was littered with setbacks. At the Oval last summer, when the team refused to take the field against England after being penalised for ball-tampering, Woolmer was in the background - yet again - of a major controversy.

It may be that he finally became aware he had been a bystander too often when the game was being abused. He instigated the drugs tests that exposed his best bowlers, Shoaib Akhtar and Mohammad Asif, at the end of last year. Both tested positive for steroids and were banned, but after some chicanery were reinstated. Then both were withdrawn from the World Cup - because of injury, we were told, not drug-taking.

Their absence weakened the team significantly , but no one expected defeat to Ireland eight days ago. It should have been the nadir of Woolmer's time in charge - until the horror on the 12th floor of the Pegasus Hotel.